Something New
by AllyKitten
Summary: I live with my father. He's a monster. Abusive. Temperamental. I had to grow up not feeling because being numb was the only way to survive. Then one night I met him. He's dangerous. Ruthless. A killer. But for the first time, he makes me feel something. Something new. And I like it. WARNING: Contains abuse, rape, sex, and murder. All Human. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Pain. That's the first thing that I feel when the darkness lifts. It's the only thing my broken body can comprehend. It consumes me. Takes over every thought, every nerve ending, every cell.

I open my eyes. I'm in the middle of the living room. Its bright. Too bright. I close my eyes again to shut it out. I'm beginning to get a headache. _Focus, Clary. Assess the situation. You can do this. Focus._ I repeat my mantra over and over in my head, pushing back my headache. I'm lying on something sharp. No, on lots of somethings sharp. Prepared for the light this time, I open my eyes once more. The sun is shining through the open window, and most of the lights in the small apartment are on. I move to sit up and the sharp things push deeper into me. Confused I look down at what I'm lying in. _Is that glass? _There is broken glass all around me and I realize that I am sitting in the middle of what used to be the glass coffee table. _Shit._

Carefully, I manage to make my way to my feet. Every muscle throbs. Screams in protest. Begs me to lie back down and let them heal. But I can't. I need to get up. I need to clean myself up. I need to bandage up these cuts. _I need to get him off of me. _

I gingerly brush off any glass that sticks to me and make my way to the bathroom. Switching on the light in the bathroom I stare the girl in the mirror. Her right eye is swollen and there are angry purple bruises from her cheek bone to her jaw line. Yellowing marks cover her throat from a few nights back. Fresh finger marks cover her arms and mingle with ones that are just beginning to fade. Little cuts cover every inch of her that I can see, and there is still glass in her crimson hair. She is too skinny, almost malnourished. Her collar-bone protrudes from her skin in a sickly way. Her emerald eyes are listless and dull. She looks hollow.

I shift from one leg to the other and the girl in the mirror follows suit. I feel the stiffness between my legs and the mirror girl and I close our eyes. _Inhale. Exhale. Focus._ Opening my eyes I pick up my brush from the counter, lean over the sink slightly and begin to brush glass from my hair. Satisified that I've gotten all of it, I inspect the cuts for more glass, taking care to rid them of any fragments. Once done, I reach into the shower, turn the water on, and slowly start to undress myself. More bruises are revealed with each layer of clothing removed. Ugly welts all over my ribcage and thighs. He was really in a rage last night.

I step into the shower and let the scalding water race over me. The water runs red with blood for a few minutes as I run a wash cloth over my skin. When the water is clear, the real work begins. I add more soap to the cloth and really begin to rub, ignoring any pain from my injuries. My focus is singular now._ I. Must. Get. Clean. _I run the cloth over my arms, my back, my breasts, down my stomach, over my hips, and finally, there. I scrub. I scrub until my skin is raw and I am sure that any trace of him is gone. I grab the shampoo and wash my hair combing my fingers through the tangles. Then, turn off the shower, wrap myself in a towel, and step out.

I bend down and retrieve the first aid kit from under the sink and begin the tedious process of bandaging my self up as best I can. The glass cuts on my back are diffcult to reach, but I do my best. Luckily none of them are too bad, just three of the them needing a butterfly bandage. with the cuts taken care of, I open the door and head to my bedroom where I rummage through my drawers and pull out and old shirt and a pair of shorts. My comfort clothes. I grab some much need pain relief from my night stand, swallowing the pills dry, and then turn to go back to the living room to clean up the mess from last night. The place is a wreck. This may take a while...

* * *

I'm not going to lie and say that my life hasn't always been this way. That I used to be daddy's little girl and mommy's angel. That some tragedy happened and changed my father into the monster that he is today. Because the truth is, Valentine Morgenstern has ALWAYS been a monster. My first memory is of him backhanding me. I grew up counting bruises instead of sheep. Of crying my self to sleep instead of hearing lullabies. My mother left just after I was born. Decided that she didn't want me or my father and took off, leaving me with him. It took a while to figure out how to deal with the pain that he caused me. I used to cry after the beatings, but the tears never made the pain go away, and the sure as hell wouldn't stop him. I was once able to tell myself that they were just bruises and broken bones, that they would go away. You know, the whole "Sticks and Stones" thing. Then I turned 11. And he came into my room. He held me down. He took my innocence. After that came the numbness. The detachment. The hollowness.

I know it may sound weird, but when he comes after me, I don't recoil out of fear of the pain. I can take the pain. It makes me feel, and that's not something that happens a lot any more. The pain makes me feel alive. It's just Valentine that makes me cringe. His sadistic sneer. His black eyes. The way that I know he will be the death of me one day. And it's not that I am afraid to die, because I'm not. I accepted that I was going to die young a long time ago. Its just the fear that his eyes will be the last I see before I leave this life.

I'm only 16, but I don't go to school anymore. They asked too many questions, and when I once made the mistake of answer some of them, the beating that followed the Child Protective Service visit was one that I'll never forget. We moved soon after that and I haven't been in school since. I learn things mostly online now. It's not that hard. You can learn pretty much anything on YouTube these days. I leave the house to go shopping for the necessities, but usually come straight home. God forbid I'm not home when he gets home. Espically after he has been drinking. Like last night.

* * *

_"Where the fuck have you been?!"_

_Shit. So that __**was**__ his car I saw passing me on the street._

_"I was at the store. We needed some things and I didn't think you would be home this early. It's only 5."_

_"You think I give a fuck what time you thought I would be home? You should have asked permission to leave this house!" he roars._

_"I'm sorry. I didn't think it was a big deal." I say slightly affronted. Ask permission to leave the house when he isn't even supposed to be home until 10? The fuck?_

_His hand snaps out faster than my eyes can process and whips me across the right side of my face. I fall to the floor grabbing at my head. I can already feel my eye beginning to swell shut._

_"Are you using a fucking tone with me?" His eyes flash red and I know that I am in big trouble._

_"No, I'm sor-" but I don't get to finish. His foot makes contact with my stomach and all the air rushes out of my lungs. My body curls in on itself, trying to protect my organs from him, but he is relentless. He sends another kick, and another, and another, and another. I brace myself with each blow. _It's ok. Just focus. It will be over soon. Just breathe.

_Finally he stops. It's quiet for a moment, only the sound of my gasps for air and his heavy breathing fills the room. I wait for it, because I know it's coming. It always comes. Then, too soon, there is the sound of a zipper being pulled down. Because of course it's not over. It's never over. _

_I lay there. I don't move. I never move. It's just easier if I don't fight back. It only leads to more pain. As he leans over me, he rolls me onto my back._

_"Were you really at the store?" he asks, almost too sweetly. Uh-oh_

_"Yes." I answer, almost as if it were a question, not a confirmation. _

_"You sure? Because I think that you were with that good-for-nothing boyfriend of yours. And you know how much you seeing him displeases me." _

Boyfriend? What? What is he- _Oh fuck. He is talking about Simon. Simon is my only friend, if you can even call him that. He lives a couple of houses down. I go over to his house occasionally to watch him play video games. A short reprieve from the life that I have. But he is sure as hell not my boyfriend. I've never really met a boy who interested me in that way. And it's not because I'm into girls because I'm not. I mean I don't have any problem that, it's just not for me. Maybe my dads just fucked me up to much to really feel anything for anyone. _

_"He's not my-"_

_"I don't give a fuck! You were with him! I know you were!"_

_"I wasn't. I swea-"_

_"LIAR!" he roars as his hands wrap around my arms and he begins to shake me, my head hitting the ground slightly. "You're a good-for-nothing-piece-of-shit-liar! And I'm going to teach you not to fucking lie to me again!"_

_And the he is off of me for a moment. I hear him rustling out of his clothes, and the he is back, sliding my jeans and panties down my legs. I stay still. I know that fighting only makes it worse. There is a crinkle of foil and then he is pushing into me. I turn my head to the side and stare out the window. _Focus. Just. breathe. It will be over soon.

_He finds his release and pulls out of me. He turns, dresses himself, and goes into the kitchen. When he is out of my view I scramble to my feet and pull myself together. Fully clothed again, I begin to make my way to the bathroom when there is a sudden roar from the kitchen. _Fuck.

_"Why the Hell isn't there any beer? Have you been drinking my god-damned beer?"_

_I haven't, and he knows it, but it doesn't matter because he is coming at me again. I put my arms up to block his blow, but he is stronger than I am. The force sends me stumbling backward. I trip over my feet and my entire body crashes through something. There is pain everywhere. It's the only thing I am aware of. Black spots slowly cover my vision as I stare blankly at the ceiling, and then the darkness takes over._

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. They belong to the wonderful Cassandra Clare.

A/N: So this story is gong to be a bit dark. It's not your usual fluffy Clace fic. It will not be rainbows and butterflies and sunshine. I hope that nothing about this story offends anyone, I just have this story in my head that I want to get out. Let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome. :)


	2. Chapter 2

It's been almost a week since we lost our coffee table. My eye is no longer swollen, but the bruises remain prominent over my pale skin. Most of the cuts have scabbed over and peeled off leaving a smattering of scars over my body.

Valentine left for a business trip and won't be home for a few more days, giving me my first glimpse of freedom in months. It is late Sunday evening and the sun has set, only a few rays of light left in the sky, and that means that it is time for me to go to the store. Because I am not one to wear makeup, this is the best time of day for me to go run errands without people noticing the blemishes on my skin. Don't want anybody asking any questions. That wouldn't be very good. In fact, normally I wouldn't be going anywhere sporting these injuries, but I ran out of my pain relief pills and my ribs are still in a bad way, making it hard to breathe. Also, I should probably take this time to restock the rest of the supplies in the first aid kit. Who knows when my next chance to do that will be. I shrug on my jacket to cover up my arms and head out in the direction of the drug store a few blocks down.

I take my time browsing through the store. It's nice to be out for a change and not have to worry about what waits for me when I get home. I keep my head down and hair pulled over the discoloration on my face as I proceed through the check out. The boy behind the counter gives me a curious look as I avoid his gaze, pay him, grab my bag, and walk briskly out the door.

The roads are empty on my way home. Any sunlight is completely gone now, the only illumination coming from street lamps at random intervals. I slow my pace now that I'm away from any prying eyes at the store and let myself relax. I tilt my head back toward the stars, barely visible through the New York smog, and breathe in the night air. I'm so lost in my head that I almost miss the commotion coming from the alley just ahead.

"Please. Please don't. I'm b-begging you! I have kids. A-a wife. They need me. Please!"

It's a mans voice, high-pitched and strained. He sounds almost like he is crying. I stop just before the opening and peer around the corner where I see two men. The first, the beggar I assume, is on his knees, shaking, and holding his hands up in front of him as if in prayer. The second man I can't see very because he is standing in the shadows made by the tall walls of the surrounding buildings. I can, however, tell that he is tall. Much taller that my 5'4" frame. Maybe 6 foot? More? His stance is relaxed, which seems odd compared with the trembling body of Mr. Beggar kneeling before him. His left arm is extended from his body, like he is holding something out at the other. _Is that a... gun? What?_

"I'm sorry. Really. But that's not going to help you." his voice is low, husky, and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge. Though his tone is calm and almost laid back, there is an undercurrent in his voice that tells me this man is not one you want to mess with. He is dangerous.

"P-please! You don't have to do this!" the kneeling man cries.

"Really? This is how you want to go out? Crying like an infant? Have some dignity, man. Besides, I actually do have to do this. You see, someone out there wants you dead. Gone. Finito. Contract has been signed. Sorry, but that's just how this works." he sounds bored. Like he is simply talking to a child who doesn't understand why he has to go to bed.

"Please! I'm begging yo-"

A loud bang fills the nights and makes me jump with surprise. Mr. Beggar falls to the ground without another sound.

"I tried to tell you man. It doesn't help. Never does." his voice is patronizing. And then he steps out of the shadows and into the moonlight. Holy shit. He is beautiful. He could give Michelangelo's David a run for its money. His hair is blond, almost gold. It curls around his ears and the nape of his neck, covering his forehead and brushing the tops of his eyes. His face is angular and defined, yet somehow soft at the same time. Even from the distance I can tell that this man is built. His muscles are well sculpted and defined. He obviously he takes care and pride in his physical appearance. He is wearing a black shirt and pants with cargo boots. Wow. What a shame that looks like these are wasted on a murderer.

I freeze. Shit. A murderer. I just saw this guy kill a man in cold blood. I should be running and screaming, not ogling him like some school girl. And since when do I ogle guys anyway? What the hell is wrong with me? But still, there is something about him, I don't know what, that makes my heart beat a little faster. _Yeah, because you just saw him shoot someone dummy! Focus, Clary. Get out of here. Now. Go._

I begin to back away from the entrance of the alley. I'm not too far from home, I just need to sneak past without him noticing me. Unfortunately for me, as I move, my foot kicks an empty bottle on the ground and sends it clattering forward. Blondies head snaps in my direction and I can feel his eyes blazing into mine. I move to take another step away, but he shakes is head, almost leisurely, and calls out to me in the same bored tone.

"Damn-it little girl. I really wish you hadn't seen that."

Fuck. _Run, Clary, Run! _

I bolt, running as fast as my legs will carry me. That apartment is close, I can make it. I just need to get inside, lock the doors, and call the police. I hear the sound of his boots getting closer. Damn, he's fast. My lungs burn and the pain on my chest is excruciating. After the last beating, my body is nowhere near ready for this kind of physical activity. Almost there. I run up the steps to the building and yank open the door. I race up the flight of stairs to the 3rd floor while digging my key out of my pocket. He is right behind me now. _Shit. Shit. Shit. _At my door I throw the key in the lock, open the door and fall inside, turning to slam the door shut. _I made it- _I begin to think when suddenly the door is thrown back open, tossing me backward. He enters and slams the door behind him. And we are alone.

My breaths come in sharp gasps, my body desperately trying to fill my lungs with air. Blondie however barely looks winded, like he just walked 5 feet instead of chased me 3 blocks and up a flight of stairs. He doesn't move, just looks me up and down, taking in my small, broken frame. I can see his eyes for the first time. There a golden-honey color, one that almost matches his hair. I was wrong before. This man isn't beautiful. He's breathtaking. _And he just killed someone and I saw him do it, and now he has me trapped and alone inside my apartment. Good job, Clary._

We stand there for what seems like an eternity, not moving. Out of the blue I realize that although I should be terrified for my life, I'm just not. I live everyday with a psychopath and he doesn't scare me. Not anymore. Why should this one? My body begins to relax as my self-preservation instinct that has always seen me through kicks in_. Don't fight, Clary. That only makes things worse._

"Listen," I say breaking the silence "I promise I won't tell anyone that I saw anything. I won't go to the cops. I can keep my mouth shut, I promise. Just leave me alone and we can both pretend like this night never happened. Deal?" I hold my hand out to him, like we are negotiating a business agreement.

He tilts his head to the side and a look of amusement flashes across his face. "You're serious aren't you?" he laughs.

"Do you really think that I would be joking at a time like this?" I snap, unable to hold in my snarky comment, and drop my hand back to my side.

"You're a feisty one aren't you, kid?"

"I almost 17. I'm not a kid. Haven't been one for a while."

This surprised him. His eyes widen, and I understand his shock. I look more like a 12-year-old than someone who is 2 months shy of her 17th birthday.

"Hmmm." He begins to stalk toward me, circling like a vulture about to capture his prey. I stay perfectly still, letting him have his inspection. On his second loop he stops to stand directly in front of me, leaving only about a foot or so of space between us. I tilt my head back so that I can see his face properly. His eyes run over the bruise on my face, the almost-but-not-quite faded hand prints from around my neck, and the small cuts from the glass. Some emotion flickers in his eyes, anger maybe, but is gone almost a quickly. His hand comes up and gently, more gentle than I would have thought a man like this capable of, runs his knuckles along the tender area of my face. All I seem to be able to do now is stare at him blankly in the eye. "Yes," he says "I think you _can_ keep your mouth shut." he murmurs.

He steps away and moves to walk around the apartment, as if a guest I invited over for dinner, and I release the breath I didn't know I was holding_. Good girl, Clary._

"What's your name love?" he asks.

"Love?" He gives no response, just continues to walk around, so I'm forced to respond with an real answer. "Clary. My name is Clary."

He glances at me over his shoulder, gives me another quick once over and nods to himself. "Yeah, Clary suits you."

"Umm. Thank you? Whats your name? Or should I continue to refer to you as 'Blondie' in my head?"

He laughs at this, and my stomach tightens. _Keep it together, Clary. _

"No." he says with a smirk on his face. Done with his inspection of the place he comes back to stand in front of me, once more invading my personal space.

"I'm Jace." he says finally. And then he is pushing me up against the wall, hand against my throat cutting off my air supply.

_Well damn. That plan didn't work._

* * *

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. They belong to the wonderful Cassandra Clare._

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you guys think. :)_


	3. Chapter 3

I gasp for air as his fingers wrap around my windpipe. I try to move my arms, hoping that by some miracle I might be able to push him off me, but he holds both of my wrists securely in one hand above my head. His entire body is pressed against mine, pinning me up against the wall. There is no escaping him. This is it. An emotion that is completely out-of-place runs through my veins. Relief.

I let my muscles relax and stop struggling against Jace's firm grip. Stars explode in my vision as I stare into his sparkling eyes. I'm getting tired. My eyelids are heavy.

The pressure against my throat is suddenly gone. I'm no longer pinned to the wall, and in my weakness, I collapse. My body automatically sucks in air, coughing and sputtering as air hits my trachea for the first time in minutes. _Damn, so close. _

"Why did you stop?" I manage to question after I catch my breath.

Jace is standing just few feet away, looking over me with a curious expression. Something about me has surprised him, I think, but...what? He kneels down and examines me more closely for a moment before resting his stare on my eyes.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that you almost let me strangle you. But that's just ludicrous. Right?"

I refuse to look at him. I feel tears well up in my eyes. I don't think that I have ever realized until now how much I want out of this life. How much I want to get away from Valentine, and how much I'm willing to give up to do that. Even if the cost is my life. An unwelcome sob rips from my chest. _Damn._

"Umm... What are you doing?" He asks like he's never seen a crying girl before.

"Kill me. Please. Please, kill me." I beg, my voice horse and scratchy. My whispers are barely audible, but when he comprehends what I'm saying his jaw drops slightly.

"Wait. You're actually asking me _to_ kill you? Damn, that's a first." He says this last part almost like he is talking to himself, then stands and holds his hand out to help me from the floor. I don't move. I can't move. My body is stuck in this crouching position. Wasn't I just trying to get away from this man? Trying to find a way to survive this whole situation? Now I'm begging him to end me? There is more wrong with me than I thought.

Jace wraps his hands around my shoulders, hauls me to my feet, and together we make our way to the small couch in the living room. We sit together in silence for what seems like forever. Only the sounds of my ragged breathing fill the air. Jace sits still. So still. Unnaturally still. Only his eyes move as they scan me up and down. He looks like he is trying to figure out something. About me? I drop my gaze to my fingers, interlocked on my lap.

5 minutes have passed.

10 minutes.

20.

My knee starts jumping up and down, a nervous habit usually reserved fo the last few minutes before my father returns home. When all of my work for the day has been completed there is nothing left for me to do but sit in this same spot and wait. Wait for the monster to return.

"Ok. That's enough." Jace declares, putting a hand on my knee. "You're going to put a hole through the floor if you keep that up."

I look from my fingers to him. I have no idea what to say to this man. My voice in my head, my voice of reason, is gone now. Right when I need her the course.

"Why did you want me to kill you?" He asks softly. No, wait. Not softly. There is an undercurrent in his voice that I almost missed. A tone that I can't place.

"Why didn't you kill me?" I retort, doing my best to make my voice match his. A corner of his mouth twitches up into a smirk.

"Touché."

I stare into his eyes for a minute longer and then return my attention to my hands.

"You seem, umm, troubled." he says, and I get the feeling that he doesn't talk to people much. Which make me wonder why he's talking to me.

"You could say that." I answer.

"Well what would you say?"

"That I'm fucked up and you should do me a favor and kill me now."

He chuckles, my plea apparently amusing him.

"Maybe someday, Angleface."

"Angleface? I told you, my name is Clary. And 'maybe someday'? What the hell does that mean?"

Jace's eyebrows raise at my fiery response, and his amusement seems to deepen.

"It means," he says "that at this particular moment in time I am disinclined to end your life, but that possible, at some time in the future, I might change my mind and finish what I started against that wall."

"Why?" I'm disgusted in how my voice whines.

"Because, you're a curious little thing, and I don't think that I'm done with you yet. Like I said, I've never had someone ask me to kill them before. This is a first for me. And I like to savor my firsts. They only happen once, you know."

I roll my eyes at that. Dumbass. Jace stands, and begins to walk toward the exit. He's leaving?Just like that? I stand and hesitantly trail behind him. Just before he reaches the door he turns to face me once more. I feel his eyes roaming over my body, my face, my bruise. His hand reaches out and for a moment I think that he has changed his mind, but instead he gently, more gentle than I would have thought him capable of, runs his fingers along the bruise. His fingertips burn. They leave a tingling sensation that travels outward through the rest of my body, causing me to shiver.

Frome fear?... or something else?

He drops his had, turns, opens the door, and steps into the hallway. Just before he closes the door all the way, he sticks his head back in.

"I'll be seeing you, Clary. Soon."

And then he is gone.

* * *

It's been a month since the night I met Jace. Everything has pretty much returned to normal. My father is back from his trip and my short reprieve from his beatings has been lifted. Though the cuts and bruises from the coffee-table-incident have healed and faded, new injuries have taken their place. My left wrist is in a brace from where Valentine grabbed me when I made the mistake of walking away while he was talking to me. Twisted it so badly he almost broke it.

I've gone over to Simon's a couple of times, trying to keep myself distracted, I think. He's good company. Doesn't ask too many questions, and knows how to keep my attention in the now.

There is one thing, however, that has changed. I've started dreaming of a tall, beautiful man, with messy blond hair, golden eyes, and musical voice saying 'I'll be seeing you, Clary.'

Jace.

His name. His voice. His face. They invade my almost every thought. I just don't understand why he didn't kill me. It doesn't make any sense to me.

And that's another thing. That death wish that came out of nowhere. I'm still not completely sure what that was all about. I have thought long and hard about it, and I've come to the conclusion that I do not, in fact, want to die. Really, more than anything, I think I saw it as a way to escape my problems, not me actually wanting to die. I have always feared that it would be my father who took me from this world. But, in that moment, with Jace? It was like a chance to finally be free. The thought that he wouldn't be able to hurt me anymore, and that I wouldn't have to fight to keep my emotions hidden everyday, well that was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Regardless, I haven't seen or heard from Jace since that night, and if I'm being honest with my self, I know that I probably never will. I should be happy about that, relieved even. I already have one monster in my life, I don't need to add a sociopath to the mix. _You need to stop thinking about him. It's only going to get you into more trouble and you know it._

I sigh and do my best to shake thoughts of Jace from my head. I'm on my way home from Simon's. We spent the day watching crappy horror movies and playing old video games. It was almost... normal. Unfortunately, my father will be home soon and I need to get there before he does and make dinner, which will be difficult without the use of my left hand.

I keep my head down as I make my way home, mentally running through ingredients in my head to make sure I have everything I need to cook tonight. A tingling sensation on my neck makes me look up and scan my surroundings, but nothing seems out of the ordinary._ My God, Clary, you're getting paranoid. _I pick up my pace and continue on my way, but the hairs on the back of my neck don't seem to want to go away. Now frustrated, I stop walking completely and take another survey of the area. And that's when I see him.

He looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him, the only difference being that he changed out his black shirt for a grey one. He is every bit as gorgeous as I remember. And as terrifying.

Jace is staring at me from across the street, standing just outside the entrance to a small restaurant. Noticing he has gained my attention, he smiles his devilish grin, nods his head, telling me silently to follow him, and turns to enter the diner. _Go home, Clary. He's bad news. Valentine will be home soon and you don't want to piss him off. Go home._

I turn and cross the street. I'm totally going to regret this.

* * *

A/N: Hey so I wanted to say thank you to those of you who have left reviews for this story. They make me smile, and I'm really glad that you are enjoying this so far. I hope y'all have a great week, and I'll do my best to update soon. :)


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